Champions, A Tale of Mortal Kombat
by Talyn
Summary: His last movie a complete disaster, movie star Johnny Cage has accepted the invitation to fight in the ultimate tournament: Mortal Kombat. Little does he know that adventure, friendship, horror and romance are in store for him. JS UST.
1. In the fog

Disclaimer:  The story, Johnny Cage, Sonya Blade etc. all belong to whomever owns Mortal Kombat.  Konami, maybe?  The particulars all are mine.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The deck of the ship was crowded with people, but they were clustered in small, tight knots, where the only conversation was internal, and every group was deliberately ignoring the others.  It was in that hostile, ultracompetitive environment that I had pulled out my cell phone in another, ultimately futile attempt to get a call through, but ever since we had sailed into that weird fog, my reception had been extremely spotty.

"I thought you said this satellite phone thing would mean I had reception anywhere on the planet," I snapped at my agent, a little petulantly.  My agent was short and weedy, and his thin mustache and expensive suit made him look like nothing if not a genteel weasel.

"Johnny, baby, that's what they told me when they sold it to me," he said, in a tone I knew he meant to be soothing, but which really grated on my right now.  I scowled and paced the prow, irritably taking my sunglasses off, polishing them, and putting them back on.

"I don't even know what I'm _doing_ here!" I finally exploded.  Of course, that was a blatant lie.  I knew exactly what I was doing – my last movie, "Ninja Mime II," was a complete disaster, and the 'people who know people' in Hollywood were starting to whisper that old Johnny Cage was washed up, past his prime.  But Johnny wasn't going to give up that easily, oh no.  So what did Johnny do?  Johnny Cage accepted the invitation to join the Mortal Combat tournament, reputed to host the most elite and dangerous fighters on the planet, and then Johnny Cage was going to tape the whole thing as a publicity stunt.

But it's okay, I thought to myself, I needed to get away from Hollywood anyways.  You know it is bad when you start _thinking_ about yourself in the third person.  Anyways, it would be good for me as a guy, too.  It had been ages since I'd actually used that training I'd gotten for anything other than my own stunts.

My manager was _still_ talking, if you can believe that, but I tuned him out like I usually do, and scanned the ship for some of my competitors.  I know that everyone thinks that I'm as clueless as they come, but it wasn't tough to pick out who my opponents were going to be.

This one guy was up on the prow, on the other side of the boat, but he was all by his lonesome, meditating or somesuch crap.  Looked Chinese, kinda short, long black hair, more muscles than he knew what to do with… very much the typical tournament fighter.  I couldn't believe he would go to this tournament by himself – the letter I received said that each fighter was allowed "an entourage of up to 8 students, followers, minions, or slaves."  I, of course, brought my manager, a three-man camera crew, my publicist, a make up stylist, my personal trainer, and…

"JOHN!!!"  

…of course, Sandy, my ex-wife.  Sandy was coming along to ensure my survival – after all, if I died, she wouldn't be able to get her claws on my fortune.  I _really_ hate divorce attorneys, by the way.

"What do you want, Sandy?" I said, more than a little irritated.  She had been one big pain in the ass since demanding that she come on this trip.  Of course, she had been a pain in the ass longer than that, but as least for a few months I hadn't been forced to see her every day.

"Johnny," she whined, "the cabin we're staying in is filthy, and there's no room service, the food it bad, and it's hot and I'm getting all sticky and that really foul man with the plate in his face was _leering_ at me when I went to get something…" and she went on like that for several minutes.

Finally, she ran out of breath.  "You know, Sandy, you didn't have to come," I said condescendingly.  

"Oh no, of course not," she snapped.  "Leave you to go off to the middle of nowhere to a FIGHTING tournament, probably get yourself killed just to spite me.  That's so like you, Johnny!"  Can you believe this woman?  I briefly considered mentioning that, by accompanying me, she fell into the category of "students, followers, minions, or slaves," which would have been pretty funny, but was probably not worth the added aggravation.

"Sandy, does it look like I can do _anything_ about your situation right now?  Does it?"

She gave me a look that could freeze beer and stomped back down below to my cabin. I was about to turn back to my manager when a big, broad-shouldered guy who was sporting this futuristic 'Phantom of the Opera' mask leans on the rain and smirked at me.

"Looks to me like you've got your hands full with that bird, mate," he said, leering at my ex-wife as she disappeared.  _Good God, he's a damned Aussie,_ I thought.  Still, he moved like a fighter, and deserved a second look.

He was wearing white karate robes, with a heavy leather and steel belt.  The belt had some kind of black dragon's head on the buckle, and he wore a leather necklace with the same symbol on a coin.  He was taller than me, and maybe a little heavier, and his black hair was cut short and decidedly greasy.  There were two knives stuck into his belt, and I had a hunch there were more weapons hidden away somewhere.

"That bird, as you call her, is my ex-wife," I said suspiciously.  "Johnny Cage, by the way."  I didn't offer to shake hands.  In my peripheral vision, I saw my manager backing away from the two of us, towards the very point of the boat.

"My friends call me Kano, mate."

"What do you competitors call you?" Coolly.  There was definitely something about this guy that was bad news.

"Oh, 'e's a funny one," he said to no one in particular.  "They don't call me much of anything, mate.  They're all dead."  He looked at me, waiting for me to be shocked.  I wasn't, and he seemed a little disappointed.  Then he furrowed his one remaining eyebrow, and said "Wait a tic – Johnny Cage?  The movie star?"

"That's me."  _Well, I guess this guy isn't too bad…_

"I saw your last movie – Ninja Mime II, right?  Boy, mate, was that movie terrible!  No offense, mate, but I saw better acting back in high school!"

_Changed my mind._  "Why exactly are you here, Mr. Kano?"  I snarled.

"Just commenting on your lovely ex-wife, friend.  Say, since you and her aren't an item, you wouldn't mind if me and my boys went down there and… ya know…"

Now there were days when I hated Sandy more than anything, but even so, she was here as part of my responsibility, and I wasn't going to this thug insinuate any more.  "You stay away from my people, you plate-faced slime," I hissed menacingly.  "If I catch you or your 'boys' anywhere near any of my associates, you'll regret it."

And then I felt the prick of a knife point under my chin.  "'Ere, I was having a friendly chat, mate, and you've gotta get all confrontational.  I'm not too pleased with that, not at all, and you'd better… atch!"

In one movement, I stunned his wrist and flicked the knife over the side of the boat, and then tripped him.  He wound up flat on his back, while I stood over him, and pulled my sunglasses half down dramatically.  It would have made a great picture, except that he kicked my knee out from under me, and I hit the deck too.

It was less than a second and we were both on our feet; I scowled as I faced him, dropping naturally into a combat stance.  His natural eye blazed with hatred, and the red mechanical one lit up like the devil's headlights.

He swung first, a powerful attack that I just barely twisted aside to miss.  He was stronger than I was – not something that happened to me very often, I assure you – but I was quicker.  After he landed a punch in my chest I was too slow to block, I staggered back, then lashed out with a roundhouse kick, catching him square in the face.

Blood trickled from his nose and he hissed at me, but before we could come at each other again that short Chinese dude was between us.  "This is not the time for fighting," he said, looking first at Kano, and then at me.  His accent was the odd combination of British and Chinese I had grown to associate with Hong Kong.

Kano tried to push past him to get to me, but found his arm trapped in a judo-like grip.  The thug had to twist twice before he freed himself, and then he fixed the little Chinese guy with a glare and stormed off, muttering to himself.

As soon as Kano was out of sight, I prodded my chest with my fingers, checked the bruises already forming, and winced.  That thug really knew what he was doing – if I hadn't deflected his punch a bit at the last possible moment, that punch would have hit my solar plexus, and I'd be unconscious right now.  _Still,_ I reflected smugly,_ he ended up the worse for it_.

The Asian kid was still standing there, looking like he was carved outta rock.  My manager, sensing that the conflict was over and it was safe to come out, began creeping back towards me.  Realizing that if I was going to be rescued from Sam the Weasel, I'd need someone else to talk to, I tapped the Chinese Peacekeeper on the shoulder.

"Hi, I'm Johnny Cage.  Thanks for the help back there… and, who might you be?"

"My name is Liu Kang," he said with a small bow.  His accent was not nearly as thick now as it had been when he was breaking up my little altercation.  Maybe now that things had calmed down, he could put a little more thought into what he said.  "As you might have guessed, I, too, am competing in the tournament."

"No kidding," I said with only a touch of sarcasm.  It went unnoticed.  "So, uh, what do you do when you aren't beating people up?"

He smiled briefly, then bowed again.  "I am from the Order of the White Lotus, the temple champion.  I fight with Lotus Kung Fu."

"A monk, huh?  Cool.  I usually make movies, myself," I said, trying to feel out if he'd heard of me or not.  As a monk, probably not.  I bet they aren't allowed to watch movies at his temple.

"I know, you had said so to your little friend back there."  He stopped, and then looked away.  I could see the beginnings of a grin on his face.  "Did you really make a movie called 'Ninja Mime'?"

I didn't answer.

"And, then, go ahead and try and make a _sequel_ to it?"  He was definitely amused by this.  _I_ didn't happen to think it was particularly funny.

I remained silent.

"Tell me, Mr. Cage, how did the movie do?"

"Poorly," I said, with gritted teeth.  "We usually pick up some of the slack overseas, though – the US market was glutted with kung fu flicks, so we might do well in Europe.  France, you know," I said off-handedly.

It suddenly struck me how odd it was, that I was standing on a leaky boat in the middle of nowhere, talking to a Chinese monk about a movie called "Ninja Mime," while said monk was wearing nothing but loose fitting black pants and some sandals.  Story of my life, I guess.

I chuckled to myself, and Liu cocked an eyebrow at me.  "What is so, Mr. Cage?"

"Nothing, just thinking about something.  And call me Johnny, everybody does."

We chatted for a bit; it was nice talking with someone who didn't care I was a big movie star, though it was a bit hard on the ego.  I ended up telling him some of my life history – you know, born John William Carlton III, did football and drama club at my prep school, got a degree in Performing Arts in Chicago, started my acting career as a commercial model.

"It wasn't until they recruited me as an extra for a kung fu movie that I really hit my stride – see, all through high school and college I'd been studying martial arts from as many different people as I could, and by the time I graduated I had Master belts in nearly a dozen different styles.  I never stuck with one style long enough to get a Grand Master belt, but those can take decades, and who has time for that, right?  So, anyways, the stuntman breaks his leg, and the director is about to throw a fit, and I just up and tell him that I can do any of the stuff they need to do.  I ended up being the primary martial arts coordinator and stunt guy for a few films after that, but frankly, I'm a _little_ too good looking to just be a stunt guy.  Am I right?"

Liu looked at me with this sort of half-grin on his face, then said, very seriously "Absolutely right, Johnny."  It wasn't until afterwards that I realized he was, in his very Buddhist way, poking fun at me.

"So the director gives me the starring role in my first real move, _Fists of Steel_, where I play this martial arts cop who has to fight this gang of Korean drug dealers and their ninja boss… who is _that_?"  My train of thought is completely derailed when this vision of beauty walks up on deck.

Okay, so she isn't _absolutely_ perfect.  First of all, she's dressed like she going into either a combat zone or downtown LA on a bad day – combat boots, urban camo pants and jacket, pistol on her hip, and a black forage cap to complete the outfit.  Furthermore, she's got this expression so you just _know_ that somebody is going to get their ass kicked, and soon.  Still, she was damn pretty – blond hair tied back in a ponytail, perfect face (I mean it – perfect, and I'm quite the connoisseur), and just enough hint under that jacket to let you know that there is something there.  And she walked like a butt-kicking machine – always alert, she seemed to flow from one place to another.

I was so distracted just looking at her that I almost missed the five guys that came up right behind her – dressed the same, sporting an array of weapons, and looking almost as dangerous as she did.

And she glides over in my direction, her army trooping along behind her, and before I can even flash my patented grin at her she has her pistol pointing at my face, about six inches from my nose.

"Who are you and why were you fighting with Kano?"

"You know," I said, as casually as I could, "this is the second time today I've had a weapon in my face, and I don't really like it.  This here is Liu Kang, and I'm Johnny Cage, by the way, perhaps you've heard of me?"

She narrows her eyes, but the pistol goes back in its holster, much to my relief.

"1st Lieutenant Sonya Blade, US Army.  We need to talk."


	2. Interrogation

Disclaimer:  The story, Johnny Cage, Sonya Blade etc. all belong to whomever owns Mortal Kombat.  Konami, maybe?  The particulars all are mine.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Blade's goon squad led me – and Liu Kang, accompanying me as either a witness or an accomplice – back down belowdecks, and then into a small cabin.  Judging by the single, spotlessly clean mattress and the small desk, I hazarded a guess that this was Lt. Blade's room.

"Sit," she commanded, indicating a chair.  _Obviously used to getting her own way – she's got that whole "aura of command" thing down like a champ._  Still, I felt compelled to regain some control of the situation, and I thought maybe I'd try and lighten things up.

"You know, it's not every day that a beautiful woman leads me to her bedroom and expects me to obey her every command," I wisecracked with one of my patented grins.  "And _never_ with six other guys watching.  Not really my thing, ya know?"

Her expression didn't change, but I thought I saw a sudden blaze of fury fire in her green eyes.  I was struck again by how beautiful she was – and then by the realization of how inappropriate that last little comment might have been.  She took a step towards me so that the brim of her ball cap was level with my eyes – she was tall, but not quite as tall as ol' Johnny.  That didn't make her any less intimidating, by the way.

"Listen up, _Johnny_.  You don't seem to realize the situation you are in.  I'm with the US Army, Special Forces, and I'm hunting a dangerous criminal.  One who you just happened to have been seen interacting with.  Now sit your pretty-boy ass down in that chair and don't try to be clever with me again.  I'm going to ask questions, and you are going to answer them.  Clear enough?"

Needless to say, I sat down, flushed with outrage.  Did she know who she was talking to?  I'm _the_ Johnny Cage, international superstar, not to mention one of the fastest and deadliest martial artists in the whole damn world.  I wanted my agent, my lawyer, and my publicist.  What I got instead, was a good looking woman with a scary attitude and even scarier guns.

"Good.  Now, for the record, what is your name?"  I was vaguely aware that one of Blade's men was holding a tape recorder next to my head, just outside of my peripheral vision.

"Johnny Cage, international…er, that is, John Carlton."

"Mr. Carlton, you were seen talking with the well-known drug smuggler and crime boss known as Kano."  I realized she was talking about old Steel-Mask.  "Do you deny this?"

"No, I don't deny it!"  There's no way she was allowed to do this.  When I got back to the states, I promised myself, she'd be up on so many charges she wouldn't know _which_ was up.  "Was I also seen _kicking his ass_, which should be construed as meaning I'm NOT on his side?"

"Just answer the questions, Mr. Carlton.  Why did you initiate the altercation with Kano?"  

Was she even speaking English?  "Why did I _what_?"

"Start the fight, Mr. Carlton."

"Because that slimy sonofabitch threatened my associates and insinuated that he was planning on raping my wife!  Er, ex-wife.  I couldn't let that stand," I explained forcefully.  Saying that reminded me that currently the only thing between that plate-faced thug and Sandy was the dubious protection of my manager and my make-up specialist.

"Was that the only contact you've had with Kano since getting on board the ship?"

"Yes!  And if I'm lucky, it will stay my only contact with him."

Without breaking eye contact with me, she asked "Can you corroborate that story, Mr. Kang?"  Liu didn't say anything, but he must of nodded or something, because she seemed satisfied by his response.

Blade looked up from where she was staring into my eyes, and she nodded at one of the soldiers standing behind me.  "He's telling the truth.  Let him up."  Then she turned back to me.  "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Carlton.  You are free to go.  I recommend that you avoid Kano for the remainder of the trip – you have no idea how dangerous he is."

"I'll do my best, thanks," I say, as calmly as I could.  After all, wouldn't do to lose one's cool, even after being.  "I'm quite dangerous myself," I said, a little bit of bravado back now that it didn't look like she would shoot me on the spot.

"I have no doubt, Mr. Carlton."  She smiled tightly at me.

"Call me Johnny, Ms. Blade.  Everyone does."  Not quite up to my usual standards for a glib remark, but not bad, under the circumstances.  She seemed to appreciate the bravado, because her smile became more natural and she shook her head in amused exasperation.

"Really?  Well, good luck in the tournament, then, _Johnny_.  You are dismissed.  Now get out of here."

The whole squad of soldiers escorted me back abovedecks before breaking out in huge grins.  "Man, you are the _ballsiest_ sonofabitch I've ever met.  Did you see the El-tee's face when you said that?  That was funny, man."

Another one, a slim black guy with a shaven head and sunglasses, clapped me on the back.  "I thought she was gonna shoot you on the spot.  She was ready to spit fire!"

"'Bout time somebody said that to her."  Another guy – black hair, pale, average height, glasses, almost as muscular as I am.  "She's been _way_ too serious ever since she hooked up with this unit.  Not that I'm allowed to talk about officers like that, but…damn!  That was good."  He winked at me.  "She's hot, huh?"

_Ah, kindred spirits_.  "Yeah, she is," I said casually.  "Hey, you all know I'm Johnny Cage, but who are you guys?"

The first guy indicated himself and said "1st Sergeant Joe Henderson.  This is Corporal Dyson," indicating the black guy, "Specialist Daniels," glasses, "and Specialists Griggs, Antonio, and Ferris."  Three other guys who hadn't talked.  "America's finest, right here."  I was definitely starting to like these guys – they had that kind of bravado and invincibility that I saw so much in myself.

After chatting for a minute, and signing a photo for Griggs' daughter (who was 17 and _madly_ in love with me, apparently) I excused myself and went looking for my manager, Sam the Weasel.  I'd need to pull everybody back to my set of cabins and make sure that we stayed out of the way of that Kano guy.  From what the soldiers said (which was damn little, despite my prying) this guy was bad news – ruthless killer, known for his skill with knives and his bare hands, and the head of this huge, evil criminal organization known as the Black Dragon.  I thought it sounded like the backdrop for a great movie – maybe I'd mention it to a producer when this tournament was over.

It was only when I got back to my cabin that I realized that Liu Kang had disappeared without saying goodbye.

_Well, I'm sure I'll see him at the tournament_, I thought briefly.  Resigning myself to another day trapped in this tiny cabin with an increasingly bored – and therefore irritating – Sandy, I prayed for the ship to arrive on the shores soon.  Then, Lt. Blade and her boys could catch Kano and his criminals, I could win this tournament, and then go back to Hollywood and star in my next movie – _Johnny Cage takes on the Black Dragon_.  That had a real ring to it.


	3. Journey's End

Disclaimer:  The story, Johnny Cage, Sonya Blade etc. all belong to Midway.  The particulars all are mine.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I was practicing a particularly difficult sequence of moves, and my trainer was standing behind me, clipboard in his hand.  Jacques was a tall and slim, delicate-looking man, but despite his effeminate persona he was a tough and dedicated expert, and he made sure that I was always working at peak condition.

My camera crew was still positioning the mirrors for optimal lighting, but it was difficult to do on the slightly rolling deck of the ship.  Sam, slightly seasick, was down in the cabin keeping Sandy company

_Lunge…elbow strike, knife hand to the throat…switch stance…body punches…roundhouse…block, block, dodge, hit the floor… capoeira spin kick…Cage-style uppercut!_  "Damn, I'm good," I said, a little breathlessly, and ran a hand through my hair in my most sexy manner – the camera was running, after all.  Another patented grin, a quick muscle flex, and the flash of my sunglasses, and the session was over.

"Cut!"  The camera crew quickly started packing back up – we were due to make landfall that afternoon, and they had to make sure that everything was ready.

Jacques walked up to me.  "That was a good run, Johnny, but I'm worried – you seem to get a little tight when you pull off that uppercut; are you sure you want to do the full split?  The last thing we need it for you to pull a muscle mid-fight!"

I clapped him on the back.  "Jacques, that's my signature move!  I can't do a wussy half-split – besides, they never expect it, and I can get under their guard every time."

He frowned, his lips turned almost into a pout.  "Well, okay, Johnny, but you'll need to stretch more.  Take it easy for the rest of the day, and I want a full cool-down this time!  If I you end up slacking again, _I_ won't be responsible for torn muscles."  He flounced off, back down belowdecks.

I put on my sunglasses and stared at the horizon.  Was that speck in the distance our island destination?  I hoped so – this boat trip, constantly looking over my shoulder for that steel mask, and the anticipation of the tournament were all wearing on my nerves.  I was sufficiently twitchy that when the Asian dude in white robes tapped me on the shoulder, I nearly jumped off the boat with a scream that was… not so masculine as I would have hoped.

"Good afternoon to you, as well," he said, chuckling.  His voice was raspy, and almost echoed when he spoke, as if he roared loudly from a long distance.  It was creepy, to say the least – but not quite so odd as the fact that he didn't seem to have any pupils.  His eyes were completely white.

"Johnny Cage, international superstar…" I said weakly, after I got my breath back.  "  Can I help you?"

"No, I don't think so," the man rumbled.  I couldn't figure out how old he was – he was tall and muscular, but his face was ageless – he could have been thirty, or fifty.  "My name is Raiden, and I, too, am competing in the tournament.  I saw you practicing back there – you are…" he seemed to pause to consider the right word, "…proficient.  Fighting you will be… an interesting challenge."

I sneered at him, my habitual confidence returning.  "You seem confident," I said, raising my eyebrows skeptically.  "I should warn you – I'm not just good, my friend.  I'm the best fighter on this planet, and I'm going to prove it at this tournament."

He laughed then – and the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up.  Remember how I described Ms. Blade's eyes as 'flashing'?  Well, Raiden's eyes _literally_ flashed, like there was a live wire behind them, sparking energy.  "Every man on the boat believes as you do, Cage… and yet, even if you _are_ the best this planet has to offer, you are by no means guaranteed your victory… this shall be the most fun I've had in an age.  Shang Tsung will regret his foolish pride in inviting me to this fight."

He turned to leave, but I wasn't going to let him get away with that.

"Wait a second, man," I said, halting him with a raised hand.  "Who _are_ you, anyways?  Who is this Shang Tsung?  And how the hell did you do that thing with your eyes?  That was seriously creepy."

He smiled at me, and he removed the conical Chinese peasant hat.  His hair was black and streaked with tiny, perfectly white strands.  "Can it be that you go to this fight so ignorant of its lore, and its consequences?"

"Hey," I said defensively, "I'd never _heard_ of this thing until I got that letter in the mail.  I'm an American – we don't do this whole Eastern-mysticism mumbo jumbo crap over there."

"Very well then, American.  Shall I answer your questions as you asked them?  I told you my name – I am Raiden.  I am a traveler and a warrior, somewhat like yourself.  I come from a very… distant… land.  As for Shang Tsung, he is an ancient sorcerer of great power and malice, as well as an accomplished fighter himself.  He and his champion, Goro, run this tournament, and they have overseen it for nearly 500 years."

Sorcerer, huh? Right, and, I can outrun my own damn shadow.  Who does he think he is fooling?

"Shang Tsung sustains himself on the souls of those killed in the tournament."  _Uh huh._  "He has challenged me because he thinks that his champion can defeat me, and he wishes my soul – but even on this world, where my powers are limited to those of a mere mortal, I retain the power and wisdom to defeat him, and end this fouled practice."

Okay, this guy was definitely a little off of his rocker – he wouldn't have sounded out of place on the streets of LA with his little cardboard placard, proclaiming the end of the world.  I guessed all the martial arts grandmasters got delusions of grandeur, especially the older ones, so I just smiled and nodded.

"And as for 'that thing with my eyes…' well, I can't tell you that."  He smirked at me and replaced his peasant hat.  "It's a… trade secret.  Good luck in the tournament, American."

And he walked off, leaving me staring after him, open-mouthed.  What is up with this tournament anyways, I thought, and why do all the psychos seem to be on _my_ boat?  It was best not to think about it.  I leaned against the rail heavily, and watched the island in the distance creep slowly closer.

***

"The island will not arrive sooner, no matter how long you stare at it," an amused voice said from behind my right shoulder.

To my credit, I didn't jump this time.  Instead, I lazily turned around, and there was Liu Kang, looking much less monkish in a pair of faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt.  He was still barefoot.

"I just want to get off this boat, Liu," I said, and then silently berated myself for how wimpy that sounded.  "I'm, eh, anxious for this tournament to start.  I've got a lot to prove, you know."

"Johnny, who, exactly, are you trying to prove something to?  Your critics, or yourself?"

"Hey, lay of the psychoanalysis!" I said, joking a bit.  "I've got a therapist back in the states who I pay a great deal of money for, and if you solve all my problems now, it'll put her out of business!"

Liu Kang smiled distractedly, but didn't say anything more, for which I was grateful.

At least, I was until the silence grew uncomfortable, so I opened my mouth again.  "It will be a shame if we have to fight each other in the tournament," I said tentatively.  "I mean, I like you, it would be too bad if I had to kick you in the face.  Not usually what friends do to each other."

The monk looked at me quizzically.  "Oh, we're friends now?" he said, curiously.

I flushed with embarrassment – I was really on a roll that day, unmanning myself for a second time.  "Obviously not," I said sharply, trying to salvage the situation and my pride.  "My mistake."

Catching my tone, Liu said earnestly, "No, don't get me wrong.  I just didn't expect you to say something like that.  I mean, we're not exactly similar, are we?"

"I guess not."

"Still, that doesn't mean anything!  Here," he stuck out his hand, "I didn't mean to say that we couldn't be.  Friends?"

I clasped his hand briefly.  "Yeah, sure.  Why not?"  And we both grinned.  "If we fight in the tournament, though, I'm still going to kick your face in.  No offense."

"None taken.  Expect the same."

"Oh, I will."

"So anyways, who were you talking to earlier?"

"Dunno, another fighter.  Said his name was Raiden – big, tall, Chinese peasant hat, has this creepy flickering thing with his eyes… you know who I'm talking about?"

Liu's eyes were about the size of dinner plates.  He said something in Chinese really, really fast, and then seemed to catch himself and switch back to English.

"You spoke with Raiden?"

"Yeah, do you know him?  He looked Chinese…"

"Raiden is the name of a powerful spirit, one who embodies the force of the storm – some say even that he is an ancient god."

"Oh."  I was silent and thoughtful for a moment.  "That would explain some of the things he said.  If he thinks that he is a Thunder God or whatever… boy, this guy was even crazier than I thought!"

Still chuckling to myself, I relayed the whole conversation to Liu, but he didn't find it as funny as I did.  I realized later that I basically described his equivalent of a guy calling himself Jesus, and then walking on water, talked to me.  While I scoffed, he glanced at the sky almost with reverence.

"Come on, Mr. Liu Kang," I said, clapping him on the shoulder.  "Lets get our bags – there are some rowboats coming from the island to pick us up.

Before I went back below the decks, however, I saw four figures creep over the side of the boat.  They were partially concealed by the evening and some supplies stacked on deck.  The last man over looked at me, and that hellish flash of red filled me with anger and fear.

Storm clouds, dark and threatening, covered the far horizon.


	4. Landfall

4.  Landfall

"I am _not_ getting into that leaky rowboat…" Sandy said petulantly.  I closed my eyes and counted to ten.  It didn't help.  "…it could _sink_ and then I'd get _salt water_ on my clothes, and there are _flies_ and its _dirty_ and…"

_Ok, that's enough_.  Ignoring her protests, I simply picked her up, hoisted her over my shoulders, and clambered down the rope ladder into the rowboat.  I can't believe I had to put up with her crap.  By the time I got into the boat, she had elbowed me in the side of the head twice, and I was getting pretty pissed.

"Listen up, Sandy!  You are here because YOU demanded it, over my objections.  I didn't want you here, but now you are, and if you are going to make my life difficult, I'm just going to throw you over the side and LEAVE you here!  Now SHUT UP, sit down, and for God's sake stop throwing a tantrum.  You sound like a four-year-old."

The fact that she actually did shut up was a bit of a miracle.  In fact, she said nothing at all for the entire boat ride, for which I was very grateful.  My camera crew was sitting with us (their gear and my luggage taking up an entire separate rowboat on its own), and it would have been embarrassing if she had caused a scene.

I noticed briefly that Lt. Blade and her crew had ignored the offer of a boat, and were climbing into an inflatable raft, complete with a little outboard engine.  The soldiers weren't joking any more – they had their weapons out and looked ready to rock n' roll, eying our destination with outright hostility.

Because Sandy was pouting, I got a chance to look at the island.  It wasn't terribly large – I could see from the rowboat both ends of the island, and it was roughly circular in shape.  The beaches were dark, coarse sand, and where the beaches ended, a thick forest sprung up.  The center of the island was all steep, jagged mountains; pathways cut into the forest were paved with stone and all seemed to lead to the central, and highest, mountain.

At the far end of the island, nearly out of sight, was a large coliseum, made of the same gray stone.  I assumed that the arena was where the tournament would actually take place.

When the rowboats hit the shore, the silent, red-robed oarsmen began unloading our luggage without being asked, and bringing it up one of the stone trails to the mountain.  I told my camera crew to follow them, make sure nothing got broken or lost, and I'd catch up with them later.  Sandy followed them, still sulking – I breathed a sigh of relief.

"So, where to now?" I asked myself quietly.

I had no idea, of course.  Eventually, I turned to another one of the fighters I had seen briefly on the boat – a slim, almost Mongolian looking fighter, wrapped entirely in blue and black robes.

"Do you know where we are supposed to go?"  _You idiot_, I thought to myself, as soon as the words came out of my mouth.  _He probably doesn't speak English_.

He looked at me, appraising.  I returned the favor.  He was slightly shorter than I was, and very lean.  I couldn't see much of him because of his robes, but what little I could see showed pale skin.  Though his eyes slanted in a way that showed his Asian background, they were an unbelievable, harsh shade of gray-blue.  _As though carved from ice and diamonds._  When he looked at me, I felt suddenly cold.

"We must find the master of the Tournament," he said quietly – in Chinese.  I don't understand Chinese.  That didn't stop me from understanding just what he said.  "The fighters are to meet at the arena, dawn tomorrow, and Shang Tsung will begin the tournament."

It was a sign of just how off-balance this whole had made me, that the fact I could suddenly speak Chinese didn't even bother me… well, hardly at all.  I just sort of blinked, and took it in stride.

"Ok," I said, and stuck out my hand.  "Johnny Cage, international superstar.  And you are?"

He didn't shake my hand.  Instead he gave a small bow, and murmured.  "I am Sub-Zero, of the Lin Kuei.  My profession is death."  I retracted my hand quickly.  That seemed to amuse him.  "Oh, not yours, so long as you do not interfere.  I will win this tournament, and challenge its grandmaster."  I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes – all these fighters were so _arrogant_.  Obviously, _I_ was going to win the tournament.  

The ninja continued.  "And then I will rip his head off."  He seemed pleased at the prospect.

_Okay, he's a little creepy.  What kind of a name is Sub-Zero, anyways?  Is everybody in this tournament a nutcase?_

"Well, good luck in the tournament, Mr. Zero," I said, pulling my sunglasses out of my pocket and putting them on.  Sub-Zero bowed again, and silently slunk off into the evening.

I watch the sun set, and glowered up at the threatening sky.  I hoped the rains would hold off until after the tournament started tomorrow.

***

I was in no hurry to head up the road and bunk down with Sandy and my crew, so instead I wandered the beach under the darkening sky.  I was unsurprised to find several other fighters on the beaches and cliffs, meditating, practicing, or just looking apprehensively at the sunset.  _Nerves_, I thought.

The warriors came from all over the globe, and though a few were remote or hostile, I found that most were willing to chat if I approached them.  I discovered that my new talent for languages included not only Chinese, but German, Lithuanian, Russian, Japanese, and some Polynesian dialect I can't even pronounce.  A few had even seen some of my movies, which gratified me to no end.  It seemed a shame that after finally finding myself in a community of equals (well, almost), I'd spend the next few days kicking the crap out of them.

Night had fallen completely, and I was about to turn back for the mountain when I heard the distinctive snarling of a certain blonde I had become familiar with.  Peering down the cliff where I was standing, I saw her, still dressed in her black fatigues, pointing her gun at an old man in red robes.

"You'll tell me where Kano is, and then you'll let my people go, you bastard," she shouted.  "Or I'll put you down right now."

"Kano has entered the tournament, Sonya," the old man said calmly, his voice carrying perfectly to where I was standing.  "He is therefore under my protection, and I cannot let you simply kill him – unless you fight him in Mortal Kombat."  He shrugged.  "And as for your threats…" he shrugged, and almost casually seemed to gesture at her.

I wasn't sure that I was what happened next – what I _thought_ I saw was a flash of light, and then a stream of fire leapt from his hands and blasted the gun out of Lt. Blade's hands.

But, of course, that was impossible.  Everyone knows that you can't just throw fire.  Right?

On the beach below me, Lt. Blade seemed just as stunned as I was.  "God damn you, Shang Tsung!" she screamed, raising her fists.

"The only way to get your revenge is to enter in the tournament, Sonya.  And it is the only way to save your men – otherwise, I will make sure that you will never see them again."

"Alright, you sonuvabitch, sign me up for your tournament.  And know this: I don't forget an enemy, and someday you are going to get yours."

The old man, Shang Tsung, almost smiled.  "Should you defeat my champion, you, of course, have the right to challenge me.  I doubt it will come to that, however.  I will see you tomorrow at dawn in the arena – I recommend that you get some rest, you will need all of your strength for tomorrow."

"Go to hell."

Shang Tsung turned and disappeared into the forest, leaving Lt. Blade standing on the beach, looking helpless and angry and afraid.  I quickly throttled my first impulse, which was to climb down to her and try and say something, anything to help.  Instead, I turned and began climbing the nearest path to the mountain barracks where the fighters slept.

Perhaps I would try and talk to her before the tournament tomorrow.


	5. Evening

Johnny Cage, Sonya Blade, all other characters, stages and the general plot all belong to Midway Entertainment.  No money is being made off of this story.

A/N:  Well, I usually don't do author's notes, but I was slightly unclear at the end of last chapter, so I'll give a quick explanation.  When Johnny saw Sonya looking helpless, he had a sudden impulse to sweep down heroically and offer to save the day.  He quickly stifled this impulse because 1: it was totally uncharacteristic of him.  Johnny looks out for Johnny first, and he was surprised by the depth of his feeling.  2:  he's really, really bad at comforting girls – it makes him feel like an idiot.  3:  he got the impression that Sonya, being the strong-willed, Type A person that she is, would probably not appreciate the gesture, because it would imply that she couldn't handle it herself.

A/N 2:  Sorry these updates take so long.  I'm at a military academy, and my schedule is a little ridiculous – and what little time I have is usually taken up by family or girlfriend.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

5.  Evening

It was fully dark by the time I reached the stone barracks on the mountainside where the fighters were bunked.  I noticed that our living quarters were actually quite spacious and even luxurious, in a medieval sort of way.  There was a central dining hall, though it was mostly empty by the time I arrived, and what food remained looked tasty enough.

There were several large parchment maps nailed to one wall of the dining room; apparently my new gift with languages didn't extend to reading it, but after some searching I found a map in English.  They had rooming lists, directions to the coliseum, and even (I almost laughed at this) things to do on the days you weren't competing!  

"This place is one part freak show, one part dungeon, one part tourist trap," I chuckled to myself.  Looking at the rooming lists, I noticed that most of the fighters were listed by homeland, preferred fighting style, profession… and blood type.  _That's an odd bit of information to include_.  Of course, I had to check out my own name first.  You know, make sure the information is correct…

I was pleased to note that my barracks housed both Liu Kang and Lt. Blade; in fact, Liu's rooms were immediately next to mine, which was convenient.  Judging by the names on the housing sheet, people were grouped by their primary language – I was in the "English-speaking" barracks, apparently.

Unfortunately, that meant so was Kano.  And his "boys," those three other pillars of society that I had seen him slink off the boat with.  I was pretty sure that they wouldn't try anything when surrounded by witnesses, but still…

Lt. Blade would be pissed when she found out that she'd be sleeping right next door to the guy she was hunting.

"Mr. Carlton, what the hell is going on here?"  _Speak of the devil…_

I had to say, even at this inopportune time, I couldn't help but check her out.  She had ditched the black coveralls and the body armor, and the only thing between my eyeballs and her skin was a tight, army-green sleeveless shirt.  Her pants were almost as eye-catching, though I noticed she was still wearing steel-toed combat boots…and an extendable, steel police baton tucked into her belt.

_That_ little observation brought me back to reality.  _This is not the time – think with the _other _head for a minute, Johnny!_  "What can I help you with, Ms. Blade?  And, you can call me Johnny."  I flashed my trademark grin – just because it hadn't worked yet didn't mean it wouldn't this time.

It didn't.  "What do you know about this tournament, and the man called Shang Tsung?"

When she asked me the question, I realized I really still had no real clue what was going on.  "Well, the tournament is unofficially nicknamed 'Mortal Combat,' and the greatest fighters in the world are invited.  It happens every couple of years, and this Shang Tsung guy runs it, apparently."  This much I knew from the letter and from conversations with other fighters.  Blade frowned, that cute mouth turning down into a decidedly unattractive expression of anger.

"Past that, however, it gets kinda weird," I continued.  I wasn't sure why I was telling her the rest of this, because I certainly didn't believe it myself.  "Some people say that Shang Tsung is wizard, and that he's been the grandmaster for over five hundred years."  I saw Blade raise her eyebrows in disdain, and I smiled sheepishly.  "Hey, I don't believe it either."

She motioned for me to continue.  "Right, it gets weirder.  Apparently, the way this tournament works is that there are a couple of 'qualifier rounds' to get a pool of eight to twelve champions, who then can challenge each other.  If one champion can beat all others, he has the option to challenge Shang Tsung to become to new grandmaster.  You would not believe some of the psychos I've met who are competing – we've got one guy who thinks he's a Thunder God or something, another one that seems like he's made of ice…"

"Alright, I get it."  Blade cut me off with a sharp gesture.  "Do you think of any reason for Shang Tsung to want me to fight in this thing?"  I didn't respond right away.  On one hand, I could play dumb, but I got the impression that lying to this woman would not do me any good.  On the other, I could admit to spying on her on the beach, which was an almost equally unattractive option.

Some long-buried chivalrous streak (damned prep school education!) prompted me to pick the second option.  That and the police baton.

"No, I can't.  Listen… I saw you on the beach… earlier…"

She looked at me narrowly, and walked to the board with the names inscribed on it.  "Is that so?"

"Um, yeah.  Listen, I don't know what that Shang Tsung guy did to your men…"

"No, you don't!" she snapped.  "Hell, _I_ don't even know!  We're fucking Special Forces, this is NOT supposed to happen to us!  Now I'm supposed to fight in a goddam _martial arts tournament_ or that bastard is going to kill my entire command!"

I thought I'd seen her angry before – obviously, I hadn't seen even a fraction of the full force of this woman's rage.  The muscles in her neck stood in sharp relief in the torchlight, and her face was death.  With the red flame turning her blond hair to the color of blood, I felt like I was in the presence of an ancient goddess of war.

The feeling passed after a brief instant, but it left me a little shaken.  _What is it about this island that sets my crazy-mysticism-o-meter off the scale?_  Meanwhile, Blade continued ranting.  "And now Kano's part of this tournament as well, and he'll probably disappear and I'll have to start the hunt for him all over again…"

I really didn't want to say this, but better she find out then than later, right?  "Actually, you'll probably be seeing a lot of Kano," I said timidly.

"Why?"  she hissed.

"Um…because his room is right next to yours, and across the hall from mine."

The door that led to the sleeping areas was oak, several inches thick, bolted into the stone wall and reinforced with iron.  It never stood a chance – Blade's first kick (a front "pushing" kick, and her form was excellent, I noticed in passing) sent it flying off its hinges, through the air and smashing against stone wall of the hallway.

"Right," she said, breathing heavily.  "Mr. Carlton, you seem to know your way around here.  Lead the way."

I couldn't even bring myself to tell her to call me Johnny.


End file.
